The Soul of the Stars
by Rosaria Marie
Summary: Science Officer Spock is trapped on the doomed planet Nebuton with Liva Christenson, a human girl of both innocence and wisdom who is dealing with the effects of a mysterious past. Though opposites in almost every way, they slowly form a bond of trust and friendship that grows beyond expectations and changes their lives forever.
1. Chapter 1: The Small One

Chapter 1: The Small One

 ** _Captain's Log:_**

 _We have been ordered to set an immediate course for the colony of Nebuton, founded over twenty-five years ago by Federation explorers. The star system which it inhabits is rapidly eroding, causing quakes and various other natural disasters. In the midst of this chaos, anarchy has broken out among the settlers and there has been near wholesale slaughter. Now all that is left to be done is to rescue the survivors. I am sending down a party of ten crew members headed by our Science Officer Mr. Spock and our Medical Officer Dr. Leonard McCoy. Due to the perilous atmosphere, persons can be beamed aboard only at a certain location at the planet's center. They must escort the surviving colonists there with all dispatch. The lifespan of Nebuton is fast ebbing out._

 ** _Captain James T. Kirk, Commander of_ Enterprise **

"What have we here?" Spock queried, whipping back the tent flap and causing the intruder inside to stumble and fall. He squinted at the prostrate form and exhaled, "Fascinating."

It was a mere girl, presumably still in her teens, wearing a crumpled sweater and denim skirt. The unruly locks of her dirty blonde hair fell across her, and her gray-blue eyes were opened wide in terror. He had not seen her among the other refugees before. She must have followed from a distance after they had rounded up survivors and left the ruins of the settlement.

"I see you managed to locate my rationed victuals," he remarked, gesturing toward the half-eaten piece of _ki'haf_ wafer in her hand and the _mashya_ spread smeared on her face. "While on the topic of your intrusion and thievery, have you anything to say in your defense?"

She looked completely oblivious to the question she had just been asked, half out of fear, half out of curiosity, and she stammered awkwardly, "Are…are you…an alien?"

Spock raised one eyebrow indignantly. "The fact is that I am a native of Vulcan, a planet much older and more sophisticated than your comparably primitive Earth. Hence, considering that you are of the latter species and are currently inhabiting space in my tent uninvited, I believe you are more 'alien' than I."

She blinked, and hung her head. "I'm sorry…I'm…I'm very sorry."

"Humans always are," he muttered with a hint of annoyance. "Yet preventing the fault with self-control seems to elude them."

He pulled off one of his white gloves with a sense of stately decorum, and extended his hand towards her with the intent of helping her to stand. She gasped and jerked back, as if expecting him to hurt her. "Please…please…I didn't mean to, I didn't…" She was trembling now.

Spock noticed something in her eyes. It was not just a little girl's fear, but the kind of dread generated by a recent trauma, the kind that reads everything as an invitation to death.

He withdrew his hand slowly. "It was only my intention to assist you in standing, small one," he explained softly, "not to cause you trepidation."

The girl looked into his eyes deeply, as if she was reading through his entire self, trying to decide whether or not he was deserving of trust. Then very slowly she reached her hand towards him. He took hold of it gently and pulled her to her feet. Observing how weak she seemed, he then directed her to be seated on a stool nearby. "Can you recall on what occasion you last took proper nourishment?"

She thought for a moment. "It was…before…the test."

"What test?"

"The one I failed…" Her voiced drifted off.

"Well…regardless." He gestured to the wafer. "Since it is already partially consumed, you had best finish it." He took a glistening, cylinder-shaped bottle off the folding table and poured out a strange green liquid into a smaller tubular glass. "Here," he offered it to her. "To enhance your energy level."

She gulped some down and then started to choke.

"Yes, well, it may be an acquired taste," he admitted.

Just then, a middle-aged man in a medical uniform stepped into the tent. "Spock, what in heaven's name is going on here?"

"Ah, Doctor McCoy," Spock hailed him. "Just the personage I will reluctantly admit we are in need of."

"What's this? You, of all creatures, hosting a young lady?" McCoy queried.

The girl, starting to nibble on the wafer again, looked at him suspiciously, and then over to Spock for some sort of confirmation.

"He's perfectly harmless," the Vulcan assured. "I can't vouch for his consistent helpfulness, but harmlessness, yes."

"Alright, you want helpfulness, I'll be helpful," McCoy snorted, "and I'll helpfully inform you that that Vulcanian finger food and fire water is probably going to make her sick."

She paused for a moment in mid-munching.

"As Science Officer, I pronounce it to be perfectly suitable for human consumption," Spock declared, eying her.

"And as Medical Officer, I have the right to counteract your pronouncements in the line of health and well-being as I see fit!" the doctor bellowed. "That stuff is meant strictly for lanky types with pointed ears!"

"Really, Doctor, the reason I thought you could be of some aid was to bandage the girl's lower arm," he asserted, taking the jabs at his appearance as well as could be expected. "If you took but a moment to observe, you'd notice the dried human blood on her sleeve."

McCoy approached her slowly. "There, there, honey, let me see the arm now…that's a good girl…" He pulled up her sleeve cautiously and gasped. "It's a brand…cut into flesh!"

She yanked her arm back, starting to tremble again.

"Now, now, it's alright," he soothed her. "Just need to get some disinfectant and bandaging on it at the medical tent."

The girl's gaze once again moved to Spock, seeming to lock onto some steadying factor found in his presence for security.

"Come to think of it, you'd better come along too, Mr. Science Officer," McCoy stated.

Spock shrugged. "I hardly see the need."

The doctor swaggered over, pulled him aside, and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "Have a heart, you anemic brainiac!"

Spock rolled his eyes. "As you know, doctor, I have no heart, physically or metaphysically, as humans would regard one…"

"Just… _look – at – her_!"

Spock glanced over at her again and saw she was now breathing hard, her hands clamped down on the edges of the stool till her knuckles were white, and her eyes wandering distractedly. She seemed to be running some terrible memory, over and over again.

"For some mystical reason unexplainable to man or beast, looking at you seems to calm her down," the doctor finished with a healthy hint of sarcasm.

Spock crossed his arms thoughtfully. "Considering that she is a refugee, and I am under orders to assure that all refugees board the Enterprise in as healthy a condition as possible, I suppose there is some logic to my continued participation."

"How very kind of you," McCoy grunted.

"Kindness is an emotionally-driven reaction, and as such, I have never endeavored to exercise nor exhibit it."

"Alright, then," the doctor huffed. "With no finer sentiments to appeal to, all I can say is…do your duty, Mr. Grinch!"

He then went over to his newfound patient and sweet-talked her as if she were a frightened animal, telling her that Mr. Spock would be accompanying them to the medical tent. Spock was slightly piqued, but did his best to conceal it as they exited the tent and started across the camp.

They had only just reached the fringe of the refugee encampment when a woman with straggly yellow hair and eyes like gray steel accosted them.

"It's the madman's brat," she spat out, pointing threateningly at the girl. This alerted some of the others in the throng, men and women this time. They started shrieking catcalls, and throwing dirt and pebbles. The small one took several steps back, behind Spock. She was too unnerved to look up, and kept her eyes on the ground.

"We are officers of the Federation," Spock addressed the growing crowd in a calm yet firm voice, "and our mission is to assist any and all refugees to a place of safe haven."  
"She failed the test!" a scruffy man challenged. "By rights, she should die like the others!"

"What?!" McCoy snapped. "By what rights? What test? This is inhuman…"

Suddenly a strong, scruffy man from the crowd advanced and made to push past McCoy. It was fast turning into a potential mob scene. But quick as a snake's bite, Spock's hand was on the man's neck. His nerve pinch defense worked, and the man keeled over unconscious. The crowd, stunned, took several paces back.

But the girl was too terrified to stay. She was gone like a lightning bolt, running for her life towards the rocky outcropping behind the camp from which she had come.

The doctor turned with the intent to go after her, but Spock stopped him. "Do not bother," he counseled. "I do believe she will eventually return."

"You mean like a cat does after you feed it?"

"Precisely."


	2. Chapter 2: Avalanche

Chapter 2: Avalanche

Spock stirred a small fire outside his tent with a dried branch. The darkness of night brought with it the icy breath of the desert, and any extra heat, however small, was welcome. By the light of the flames, he spotted something blue peeking out from behind a rock along the cliff face he was camped beneath. If he guessed correctly, it was the edge of a skirt.

It had been over two days since the girl with the branded arm had run away, but his keen senses continued to tell him that she had not strayed very far. Now he saw proof that his summation of the situation had been accurate as usual.

"If a fire is to have any effect in dispelling cold," he started, loud enough for her to hear at a distance, "then it would be advantageous for one to move in closer proximity to it."

Several moments passed. Then very slowly, she crept out from behind the rocks. By the glow of the flames, she looked even more thin and pale than she had upon their first meeting.

"You won't tell them I'm here, will you?" she pleaded in a whisper.

"I believe I have better things to do with my time." Eyes averted from her with decided indifference, he gestured for her to be seated across from him.

Taking his cue, she tiptoed over to the side of the fire opposite from him and crouched there with her hands outstretched.

He glanced over at his tin pan of dinner rations and unceremoniously pushed it towards her.

"You don't have to…"

"I'm afraid I do."

She picked up the pan slowly and balanced it on her knees. "Thank you."

"Vulcans should not be thanked."

She tilted her head, perplexed. "Why?"

"Because our actions are grounded in logic alone," he explained. "We perform them automatically, not out of any emotional reaction or personal preference."

"Then is your form of logic a means to an end, or an end in and of itself?"

"How very philosophical," he remarked. "I hardly expected it of you."

"Philosophy means to love the truth, and to seek after it," she defined. "Does that not make us all that way at heart?"

"In the mind," he corrected, touching his temple, "perhaps."

"Then by logic, you mean to live only according to those truths which are scientifically observable."

"Truth cannot be known if it cannot be observed. It is a basic principle."

"My grandfather…thought otherwise."

"Was he the one they called a madman?"

A dangerous sparkle had entered her eyes. "He was not mad," she countered levelly. "He just…did not trust the people in the valley. So he kept to himself, on the mountain with me. We took care of each other."

"You seem to have been strongly bound to him," he surmised.

"He was…all I had in this world." There was a touch of despair in that revelation that generated Spock's curiosity.

"What became of him?"

The color washed out of her face, just as it had at their first meeting in the tent. "He…died." Her hand holding the _ki'haf_ wafer from the pan trembled slightly, but she forced herself to take a bite of the food to try and calm her nerves.

Observing her reaction, Spock decided it would be best not to press the subject. Surely all would be revealed in due time.

"On board the ship, there will be food more suitable for human tastes," he stated, making an effort to change her trend of thought.

She looked up from the wafer, and color slowly began to warm cheeks again, letting him know she was relieved at the distraction. "What kind?" she inquired curiously.

Spock shrugged. "It is a human dominated vessel, hence the variety I have observed brought on board is oft-times ludicrously varied. Your species is altogether too obsessed with individual preferences of the palate, which often leads the crew to order substances which are innutritious and extravagant."

"Like what?"

"Like, for example, a dessert made of cow's milk and sugar cane, churned with sodium and then frozen, referred to as 'iced cream'."

"Oh, I have heard of ice cream," she said wistfully, "but have never had it. What does it taste like?"

"I most assuredly have not indulged in a taste test."

"But perhaps you might like it."

"I would most certainly _not_ like it."

"But I thought you were dedicated to logic."

"Er…yes, and…?"

"And there's no way of knowing whether or not you like something unless you try it," she finished. "Besides, I hear there are many different flavors."

"I have heard the same," he confirmed. "All _human_ developed flavors, excessively sweet and artificial as suits their general tastes to a tee."

"Well, maybe someone will come up with a new kind of flavor," she suggested, holding aloft her half-eaten wafer, "something more to Vulcan tastes, like…whatever this is I'm eating."

He squinted at the very nutritious, very logical _ki'haf_ wafer. "That rather sounds like a sacrilege of some sort."

His retort brought a smile to her lips. She laughed – a light, pixie-like laugh – and Spock could not help but notice how much healthier she looked in comparison to her previous gaunt solemnity.

"You do have the ability to smile then," he commented wryly.

She nodded, slightly embarrassed. "Do you, Mr. Spock?"

He turned away from her. "Ability counts for little without motivation."

"Have you never felt joy enough?"

"Vulcans do not _feel_ , we _think_ ," he emphasized.

"Always?"

"Always."

She was quiet for a long space of time, and then remarked, with something like compassion in her voice, "That sounds…very lonely."

He turned towards her again, intending to counteract her words. But they seemed strangely irrefutable at that moment, with her wide eyes searching the dark crevices of his inner world.

Just then there was sound, like an internal planetary humming. The ground vibrated in response to it. Spock and the girl both jerked to their feet as it accelerated into a full-blown quake, and a tremendous cracking was heard above them. Then there came a rumbling, thundering rush. It was…the cliff.

"Run…" he managed to order her, just as the avalanche swept down and buried him in a cloud of dust and debris. He felt a crushing, twisting weight pin down his leg, and press him against the side of the cliff. Time seemed static, unmoving, and absorbed by a breathless haze. He was still only semi-conscious when he felt small hands making an effort to dig through the debris and free him.

"Get back," he rasped, struggling not to cough. She ignored him altogether and kept at her digging. He heard the sound of many voices screaming in the distance, and an ear-splitting cracking noise.

"Get back, you little fool..." His voice rose more loudly than his usual monotone demeanor, not only because of the ground breaking apart, but in hopes of shattering her obstinacy.

She stood up and gazed at the ruptured earth behind her, but then turned her eyes back to him. She was making another decision, and there was no turning back from it. And then the chasm fully gave way, beyond all recall or chance of escape.

And still…they just stared at each other, through each other. And time was still as water unbroken by wind…

"Spock!" a gruff voice echoed from across the divide. "Can you hear me?"

"Naturally, Dr. McCoy," the Vulcan answered steadily, not bothering to gauge how much time had elapsed. "The chasm may be such as to prevent crossing but not hinder audibility."

"Don't give me your double-talk, Spock," McCoy exhaled in frustration, but there was another emotion riding just below the surface.

Spock eyed him with a steely look. "Doctor, you know what must be done. It is your duty to rally the survivors and make your way to the rendezvous point. The ship will be waiting."

"But Spock, we can at least try…"

"Too much time has already been wasted, and time, now more so than ever, is of the essence."

"Spock." McCoy spoke his name with a haunting note ringing through it. The doctor was, after all, merely human, facing an inhuman reality.

The Vulcan lifted his head to stare death in the face with the unflinching pride of his race. "The good of the many outweighs the good of the few; so it is, and so it has always been." He inhaled deeply, and with a tone of utmost authority, commanded, "To your duty, Doctor."

McCoy stared at him, long and hard. "Must you always be so haughty about everything?"

"I'm afraid so."

The doctor chuckled ruefully. "Damn it, so you must." He lifted his hand in a brief, awkward gesture of farewell. "Goodbye, Spock."

The science officer nodded in acceptance, and made the traditional Vulcan salute. After staring across at each other for several seconds more, McCoy reluctantly turned away and went back to the others.

"Mr. Spock," Liva addressed him quietly.

He turned slightly, seeming to have only just remembered that she was with him.

"What would you suggest we do now?"

"I'm afraid this situation does not bode well for mutual longevity. In fact, unless something quite unnatural unfolds, we shall surely perish."

"All the same, we must do something with ourselves in the meantime, mustn't we?"

"In actuality, we need not do anything with ourselves," he countered. "The necessity of productivity must have some object. Under the current circumstances, producing is quite purposeless, for anything brought into being in this atmosphere is condemned along with us and is therefore inherently worthless."

She looked distressed. "Do you really believe that?"

"I see no reason why I should not. I have already told you, it is impossible for me to see anything beyond the guidance of the strictest logic."

She thought on his words for a long moment. "Might logic allow you some small scientific satisfaction…even if it is without long-term purpose?"

"Please explain."

"I would think that observing the death of a planet firsthand might be of some interest to you as a scientist, regardless of whether you live to tell about it."

"There is a flaw in your logic, generated by a lack of proper observational equipment."

"I have equipment, Mr. Spock."

He looked at her dubiously.

"Well, it belonged to my grandfather, but now…I suppose it belongs to me. It's in the shack on the mountain where we used to live. I can take you back there…if you are willing?"

"I see nothing else deserving of attention at this time," he conceded. "Providing I am able to extricate myself from this debris, and nothing is broken to prohibit my movement, you may lead the way, Miss..?"

"Liva Christensen," she introduced herself, helping to dig through the pile of shale again. "You may call me Liva…"

"Yes, you would then be welcome to lead the way, Miss Christensen."


	3. Chapter 3: Ladder to the Sky

Chapter 3: Ladder to the Sky

A day and a half after starting up the windy mountain pathway, and Spock and Liva reached the shack. It may have been small and badly damaged from past earthquakes, but it was a treasure trove of scientific equipment. Not only that, but almost every corner of it was filled with antiquities from almost every civilization in the universe.

"Fascinating," Spock marveled. "Truly fascinating."

"I thought you might find it so," Liva admitted. "My grandfather was the science officer on the first ship that explored Nebuton, and he kept his travels close to his heart through his collections."

The Vulcan shot up his head in surprise. "Professor Agdar Baardsson?"

She gestured to a hefty ledger lying open on the floor. He carefully picked it up and turned to the first page, examining the name scrawled it in front. He continued to flip through it. "Yes, yes…it is his hand. I have seen it before in the archives of the exploration."

"You sound rather shocked, Mr. Spock."

"I am simply curious as to how a man of his high level of learning would ever be brought to live in these circumstances."

She shrugged. "In the valley, they declared him mentally unfit."

"But his writing is executed with firmness and steadiness, revealing a man whose thought patterns were coherent."

"I said that they declared him unfit, not that he actually was," she clarified. "He just…saw things differently than they did."

He looked up from the ledger. "And how exactly did they see things?"

She turned her eyes down and responded quietly, "Sometimes I fear they did not see at all."

Then they both heard a sound, crossed between a squeak and a whine. Liva spun around. "Beyla!"

Peeking out from an overturned cot was a small black cat – hardly over being a kitten, really – which Liva adoringly scooped and kissed on the head, murmuring terms of endearment in Scandinavian. "My angel, my dear angel, I thought you were dead…I thought…"

Spock did his best to ignore the scene, especially since he surmised she was about to allow herself a very human cry. Then he noticed something from the corner of his eye.

"What happened to that creature's face?"

Protectively, she shielded the kitten with her hand. "It was just some boys at the settlement," she mumbled. "They were jabbing at her with sticks and matches. When I found them at it, I...I…"

"You…what?"

"I punched one of them."

Spock raised his eyebrow. "Did you, now?"

"I'm very capable of it, Mr. Spock. I have a terrible temper sometimes."

"I shall make a mental note of that." He cleared his throat. "And in this melee, how did you manage to achieve victory?"

"I didn't exactly say that I won; it was three against one, after all."

"But you did make off with the cat."

"Yes, well, they were busy enough with someone else to torment for a little while, so they didn't bother chasing after her when she escaped."

He surveyed her like a doctor examining a patient. "Did they…do extensive damage?"

"No, just roughed me up a bit. Bloody nose, bruised face, that kind of thing. Oh, and this…" She rolled up her sleeve with a sense of school girl pride to reveal a scar running up towards her elbow. "I got it from one of the sticks."

"Ah," he acknowledged, letting his eyes wander to the brand mark that she had inadvertently exposed. She seemed to have momentarily forgotten about it, but seeing his eyes move to it, she quickly pulled down her sleeve again.

"But afterwards," she continued hurriedly, "when they finally left, Beyla came back for me. She was burned and scared, but she curled up under my arm and stayed with me when I felt too bruised to get up. When I finally did, I took her home with me, and got her better. But in all the confusion…I…I thought I lost her for good…but she's back now."

"Not the safest location to return to, I'm afraid," Spock stated grimly.

She did not answer, but only buried her face in the cat's fur for a moment, seeming to draw whatever small comfort she could from the animal's presence. "Still…at least she's with us." She smiled. "Would you like me to show you the view from the back porch?"

"If that is your preference, I do not object."

They walked outside to the small porch, from where the dramatic peak of the mountain and sharp drop into the ravine were visible. It was much colder at this altitude then it had been traveling the desert-like terrain below. For Spock, who had been raised beneath Vulcan's blazing sun, it was particularly uncomfortable. But he would never reveal that, especially since he knew his species was strong enough to survive what humans would call the worst of conditions. Nevertheless, he did lean himself against the porch beam with his arms crossed, as if bracing himself for an arctic blast.

Liva, on the other hand, well-accustomed to the mountain cold both from her life-long environment and Scandinavian blood, seemed more focused on enjoying her visual surroundings than taking note of the temperature. She seated herself down on the edge of the porch and lean back on her hands to gaze up at the broad night sky. It was almost completely dark, except for a few dim swirls of light that were the last remnants of the fallen stars.

"I remember when the sky was full of stars," she reflected. "They were beautiful, like jewels scattered on black velvet. I used to talk to them before I went to sleep, and tell them my secrets. I cried my heart out when the last one died. "

Spock gazed at her, mystified, wondering why she was divulging all this to him, a perfect stranger. She must have had a very lonely life indeed. "Stars of composites of hydrogen and helium that burn for a given space of years and then expire," he defined in detail. "I see very little to mourn over, even by human standards."

"But that's just what they're made out of, not what they really are."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "And you believe that they are…?"

"Reflections of something greater, far greater. Something magical, like the dew of the first morning, or the first bird's song. Something made of spirit that lives on beyond all the galaxies and will still be there even when everything melts away."

"I am surprised you seem to have invested yourself so heavily in old earth superstations," Spock remarked. "Your grandfather was renown at Star Fleet Academy for debunking such myths in public debate with what few adherents remain."

"My grandfather…changed quite a bit up here," she explained. "He memorized old stories and told them to me. He gave me old books to read. He wanted me to know all the things the men in the valley would never teach because they had forgotten the worth of them."

"You mean antiquarian worth?"

"I mean seeing things as they are, instead of as they appear to be." She smiled slightly. "I trust I make myself obscure?"

"I am used to obscurity from humans. You forget that I have worked with them more than is perhaps good for my overall sense of well-being."

She giggled. "I do believe you are wary of us," she teased.

"I am admittedly concerned that anyone with human blood may have a dangerous strain in them. Something wild, beyond order…"

"Like a spark winging its way from the fire?"

"Now you are sinking back into old form romanticism," he chided her.

This seemed only to amuse her more. "Oh, come, is there nothing we have written about life that strikes your fancy?"

"I have no fancy to strike, only sensibility to know what is useful, and what is not. I have read much your Earth literature using the reading techniques of Vulcan. We process the words rapidly, more so than a human could comprehend, and then filter that which is useful, and that which is not according to our state in life."

"But that's not really reading at all," she protested. "One must interact with a book as one would with life…feel it, understand it, imagine it. What you've been doing is just accumulating information, and feeding it back…like a machine."

"Yes, that sounds logical to me," he responded. "I _am_ a machine, a very efficient one that has gained, and continues to gain, the data needed to perform my duties. Any other questions?"

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "I think my grandfather was very much like you, Mr. Spock. He thought logic was like a ladder to the sky. He climbed up, but ultimately he had to jump off, for it would take him no further. He had to find something more to be his wings."

"That, young lady, sounds like a perfect recipe for a fractured rib-cage."

"If that's the only way to reach the heart, maybe it's worth it."

He shook his head. "You will likely live a short life with much suffering if you abide by that principle…" He stopped, realizing too late that his words rang too true to be spoken.

Liva shrugged. "Maybe I just see things differently than other people. Grandfather used to say that I did. I do try my best to make out that which is, that which is not, and all betwixt and between. But it cannot just be me…" She sighed heavily. "Have you never felt something, Mr. Spock? Something on the wind which should be mindless, something in the chasm where there should be nothing, something more than can be measured?"

He paused for a long moment before answering. "If I had, it would be between myself and that which is in question… that which is not known. No answer can be given beyond that, nor should it be sought after. Existence is too much like non-existence to be examined through the lens of logic, and as such I see no cause to plumb the depths of it." He cleared his throat. "Now we really should try and get some sleep, so we can get a fresh start in the morning for scientific analysis."

She closed her eyes for a few more seconds and took a last deep breath of the cool night air before turning back to him with a knowing glance. "Oh, Mr. Spock, can you not feel it? Right here, right now…this _is_ science itself."

Back inside the shack, Spock began to erect a rather elaborate clothesline apparatus with some rope, a spare sheet, and several clothes pins he had located in the closet.

"What's that for?" Liva inquired.

"To maintain a decent amount of privacy for all involved," he explained, stretching it out the length of the room.

"You mean to make sure our cots are in separate quarters?"

"Precisely."

"Since I was used to sharing the same space with my grandfather, so you really needn't go through such lengths…"

"I insist," he muttered, with a clothespin in his mouth as he struggled to stretch the sheet across the rope without making it give way and collapse. When he finally was content with his dividing devise, he retreated to his bunk behind the sheet, and lay down unceremoniously with his arms folded behind his head for a pillow.

"Goodnight, Mr. Spock," Liva called across to him good-naturedly.

He didn't respond.

"I suppose…Vulcans don't say goodnight?"

"How would my saying it affect the quality of the night, for good or ill?"

She sighed. "You really do over-think things."

"From a human in general and you in particular, I can be assured of the complementary nature of that statement."

"Oh, you're incorrigible…eh, Beyla!"

In a flash, there was a kitten trying to climb into Spock's cot. "Miss Christenson," he addressed her through gritted teeth, yanking back his curtain.

"It's not my fault," she protested. "She's never gone over to a stranger before."

He raised one eye-brow, watching the little black ball of fur attempt to a clamber up the edge of his sheet before sliding back down. He noticed one of its paws was twitching. "This creature is not particularly adept at climbing it seems."

"Her paw was burnt up by the matches. It doesn't have the strength for clinging."

Spock observed the kitten's failed efforts a few more seconds, and then, rather unexpectedly, snatched it up by the scruff of its neck. She squirmed and meowed in complaint for a moment, but then he began to stroke her dark fur and mutter soothing words in a language Liva did not understand. Soon she secured herself clinging against his officer's uniform, and began to purr contentedly.

"She trusts you," Liva realized in amazement. "She hasn't trusted any man since she was attacked."

"Well, I am not technically a man, am I?" he countered quietly. "Besides, if I were obliged to choose an earth species, felines tend to be easiest to understand."

"I've felt the same way sometimes," she admitted, taking the air out of what could been taken as an insult. "And you…rather remind me of a cat, Mr. Spock."

He eyed her quizzically. "The pointed ears?"

She giggled. "No, I mean…just the way you are. The way you see things and wish to be seen. The way you act…always dignified and observing and aloof. You're full of mysteries. "

"And you are akin to a hyper-active, altogether too playful kitten," he grumbled, setting Beyla down on the floor to go back to Liva. "Now sleep is a vital necessity and we really must all try to get some." He closed the curtain again.

"Mr. Spock?"

"Mmm?"

"Tomorrow would you teach me how to say things in your language?"

"Vulcanian is not easily grasped by the human tongue."

"But it's so pretty…"

"It is not at all…that. It is a very pragmatic language."

"Still…"

"Alright, we shall make an agreement," he decided. "If you desist from further communication for the night so that we can both rest in peace, I'll do my best to give you a introductory lesson in the morning."

Her heart was warmed by this, and she repeated cheerfully, "Goodnight, Mr. Spock."

"Right," he exhaled. "Now, please…get some sleep."


	4. Chapter 4: Science Assistant

Chapter 4: Science Assistant

The next morning brought new adventures. Namely, trying to fix the kitchen stove which Professor Baardsson had invented. As a result of the earthquakes, it seemed likely that something had been jarred within the apparatus, and Spock took it upon himself to remedy the situation.

"Do you need help with that?" Liva inquired as he crouched beside the fuse box in the back, yanking out seemingly random wires, and then putting them back in different places.

"Miss Christenson, I graduated with honors in the highest courses of computer science available at the Federation Institute," he informed. "I do believe I am capable of fixing this antiquated cooking appliance..."

Just then, the fuse box lid fell down with a clamor, pinning his hand beneath it. She was soon down beside him coming to the rescue. "It always does that," she muttered, trying very hard not to smile. "Here, let me try something." She went around to the front and rather rapidly began turning different knobs. Then without batting an eye, she seized a cooking pan and smashed it into the side of the stove. It seemed to respond to her less-than-delicate prodding favorably, and heat began to emanate from it again.

He turned his eyes down. "Right, so…it seems that you're more accustomed to dealing with the crude methods of keeping outmoded devices functioning than I."

"And I can cook on outmoded devices too," she added cheerfully.

"That's an additional benefit, I suppose. Even though I have no need to take food at this time. In fact, even if we were planning on long-term survival, Vulcans need only take nutrition half as often as humans."

"I can imagine what Dr. McCoy would say to that."

"So can I, which is why I am particularly gratified he is not stranded here as well." He looked at her quizzically. "What made you bring him into this conversation at any rate?"

She shrugged at his touchiness. "He's your friend, is he not?"

"You clearly did not observe our interaction with an analytical eye. I believe that at best we are…we _were_ both proverbial thorns in each other's sides."

"Sometimes it's the best of friends who fight the most," she insisted. "It can be a way of showing affection."

"Affection is something altogether foreign to my race, so my difficulties with the doctor certainly cannot be revealing that."

Now it was her eyebrow that rose. He felt quite irked by her disbelief of his claim.

"Well, now that the stove has been returned to good working order, there is certainly no reason why you should refrain from using it." With that, he stalked off towards the desk he had claimed for his own use and immersed himself in the contents of her late grandfather's ledger.

The first section was a highly professional account of scientific councils held by the colonizing crew members. But rather abruptly, the references to the Federation work ended, and it eased into a very personal account of his life alone on the mountain with Liva. He had obviously been very attached to her, and he seemed more focused on noting the small things that happened to her than anything else. He also referred to terrible happenings in "the valley", but never gave any specifics.

Spock was so absorbed in trying to figure out the meaning that he barely kept track of the time, and Liva had finished preparing an impromptu breakfast with some of the potatoes kept in storage. "It's all ready, Mr. Spock," she announced proudly. "I used what was left of the butter and herbs, so it should be decent enough."

"That's all well and good, but as I indicated, I shan't be staying to indulge, thank you," he responded.

A worried look swept over her face. "You're…leaving?"

"I would like to explore my present surroundings for an hour or so," he explained. "It is what science officers do."

"May I come with you? I've explored this area for ages, and I could bring our food along."

"You would only be in the way," he snapped.

"I…I wouldn't be a bother, Mr. Spock, honestly," she protested. "And I would so much rather be with you than stay here…all by myself…please?"

He stared at her for several seconds. "Do you…have something appropriately insular to wear? The temperature this early in the morning is decidedly frigid…for a human, I mean."

"For a Vulcan too, I think," she added, smiling. "I'll get us both something."

With that, she started rummaging around in the storage closet that contained some clothing on hangers. When she re-emerged, she was holding two rather bulky coats trimmed with fur at the hoods. She extended the larger one to Spock. "It used to be my grandfather's," she explained. "He used it when he went out on expeditions. I'm sure…he'd want you to have it…"

"Really, I don't feel the need…"

"…because you're a Federation science officer, just like he was. It would honor him for you to have it." She continued to stand there patiently with the coat extended towards him, an air of determination about her.

His forehead wrinkled thoughtfully. "So would this be considered a custom among your people, to honor the memory of one who once was highly honored?"

"You can call it that, in this case," she agreed, sadness creeping into her tone.

"Alright then," he conceded. "To honor an officer of the Federation, well regarded by all trained with him."

She grinned as he slipped on the coat. It was too big for him, and hung rather awkwardly on his lanky form. "I am…unaccustomed to wearing such gear."

She giggled. "I think it makes you look rather handsome."

"I believe, Miss Christenson, most humans from your ancestral lands in old earth would consider the Vulcanian appearance to be most akin to the mythological race known as trolls."

She burst out laughing at this. "No, certainly not, Mr. Spock! You're far too tall to be a troll, and I really can't see that you're given to playing mischievous pranks."

"Truly said," he admitted. "A thoroughly unproductive pastime. Speaking of which…it is time to embark on our mission." He handed her a satchel from his desk. "For collecting botanic samples."

"A nature hunt!" she filled in excitedly.

His eyes glazed over. "Scientific scouring, if you please."

The mountain landscape was strikingly different than the dry desert climate below. Here, instead of blistering sands stirred by untamed wind, the mornings were ruled by a quiet frost, glistening off the remaining grass in the high meadowlands where, according to Liva, a herd of goats and wild deer had once grazed. This means of survival had been taught to the explorers by a tribe of indigenous aliens who had populated the planet in scattered villages. They had also helped the newcomers learn about the different properties of the native plants and berries and how to collect the eggs of the enigmatic _tryverns_ , half bird, half dragon-like creatures that had once nested on the cliffs. They also knew how to track the great _watk'a wituk_ , an animal similar to a bear, only much larger and with long fangs and amber fur.

Although she had never seen any members of this alien race herself, she said that her grandfather had spent much time with them, and that they taught him many things about the mountain which they considered to be sacred. They had been tall, and strong, with horns like the wild goats they herded, and skin the color of the white bark. They worshipped beside the great chasm the force that held all life together, and sang strange songs that animals could understand.

"But there are none left now," she finished. "My grandfather and I were the only ones who remembered their ways in this place."

Spock plucked up a piece of clover and observed it with an almost excessive degree of intensity. "What became of this indigenous race?"

"They…died."

He looked at her scoldingly. "You are not giving me many specifics with regards to cause and effect, just as you are evading my queries as to the fate of your grandfather."

She looked pale. "I…I can't tell you, Mr. Spock."

"And why not?"

"I simply…can't." She turned her eyes down. "You wouldn't…I couldn't…." She sighed deeply. "It just doesn't matter now."

He decided to let it go for the moment, but determined that before the end, his curiosity would be satisfied one way or another. There were too many unanswered questions for his inquiring mind to ever rest in peace without having them properly uncovered.

Spock walked a little distance ahead of her, and came to a tall, spindly tree. It was almost completely bare accept for a few strangely colored cones, a cross between green and blue. But his eyes fixed on the single one that appeared violet. He had a long reach and a strong grasp, so it was not very difficult for him to snatch it down.

He turned to Liva, watching him from a few paces away. "Is it rare to find a cone of this hue?"

She nodded. "So rare it is called a good fortune. It must be the tree's way of saying goodbye…" She cleared her throat, assuming he would fast grow frustrated with her romantic musing. "So will you dissect it and study it with the microscope?"

He looked at it for a moment and then turned it over in his hands. "I…think not." Then with a certain scientific precision, he walked over to her and slid it into her satchel. "Unique it may be, but not of the highest value from a scientific perspective. So…you may…keep it."

She smiled softly. "I love purple."

"I rather thought you might."

"What made you think so?"

He raised one eyebrow and looked at her quizzically. "Because it is a suitably illogical color, and as such it seemed likely that it would coincide with your tastes."

She raised her own eyebrow in mock imitation. "And how is it so very 'illogical'?"

"It's a mix of primary colors," he responded. "Not properly blue, nor properly red, unable to be purely anything and therefore…" He paused for a moment. "Blends like that cannot be fully logical, can they?"

She shrugged. "They can beautiful; that's what's makes them special."

"Perhaps," he granted, "for you."

"For me?" she repeated, shaking her head. "Do you not think that some beauty simply is, not for me or anyone in particular, but just _is_?"

"If there were no beings sentimental enough to derive pleasure from such things, the concept of beauty would not exist," he responded. "That cone would simply exist as it was without thought or intent. Without neurons firing in human minds, and eyesight capable of perceiving shape and color, beauty, as you see it, would cease to exist."

"Unless it's the other way around," she proposed. "Beauty is, always has been, and it was just waiting for to stumble upon it and say 'you are beautiful'. But it was always meant to be that way, see?"

"No, I do not."

"It's like the scent of flowers, or pine, or rain, or freshly baked bread…it _must_ have been intended…"

"On the subject of food," he diverted the conversation. "Aren't you in need of taking nourishment?"

She smiled slightly. "You're asking if I'm hungry?"

"As a Vulcan, I cannot be expected to predict human appetites," he protested. "You must…tell me these things."

"Would you share lunch with me?"

"I believe we have covered this ground before. My meal schedules need not coincide with human ones."

"I didn't say they _needed_ to," she retorted. "But I would wager that an extra meal wouldn't hurt you in the least. Besides there's little enjoyment in eating alone."

"Whatever gave you the notion eating was meant to generate enjoyment?"

She shook her head like an exasperated mother with a petulant child. "Must you always try to rationalize everything?"

Before he could answer, she impulsively grabbed his hand and pulled him down beneath the shade of the tree. Then she neatly started laying out the blanket she had brought along and unpacking their lunch. "Say what you like about picnics," she exhaled, "but _this_ is a good spot for one."

He shrugged. "You seem to be the expert in that department. I shall have to take your word for it."

"Yes, you shall," she replied, grinning as she handed him a bag of potato strips. He looked at it strangely before finally taking it. "I promise they don't bite," she teased.

"That is not what I was concerned about. I was rather pondering whether or not you had brought along the proper accompanying linen for food such as this."

"As in…napkins?" She quickly produced them from her satchel and waved them triumphantly.

"Precisely." He took them from her with a nod of acknowledgement.

"So tell me, how do Vulcans eat?"

He squinted. " _How_ do we eat?"

"I mean, what's your decorum behind meals? Every culture has one."

 _Ah. She was actually expressing interest in cultural differences…_

"Reclined," he answered. "Much like this, actually. We do not use elevated tables and chairs. It is scientifically proven to be better for digestion. And besides, it is…dignified, in its way."

"Dignity means very much to your people as a whole, doesn't it?"

"Dignity is the offspring of our logical philosophy."

"Yes, you…you show it, Mr. Spock."

"Like a cat, if I recall correctly?"

"I suppose," she giggled. "But truly…you do show it. You _live_ it."

He nodded slightly, not quite sure how to take the compliment.

"So moving on to your language," she switched topic, "how do Vulcans say…hello?"

"There is not an equivalent word, although we do have our own form of greeting," he explained. "It is more…a salute, or an extension of…honorable desire."

"Oh, do teach me how to say it!" she pleaded excitedly.

"First you must…maintain a calm exterior," he stated gravely. "Emotional displays will destroy the entire purpose of the greeting."

She forced the smile off her face, and sat very still like a little dog who had been instructed to "stay".

Spock swallowed back the slightest wisp of a smile himself. After all, humans could be so very…fascinating in their reactions. Then he held up his hand in the form of the Vulcan Salute, and clearly enunciated, " _Dif-tor heh smusma_."

She studied him for a moment, then made an effort to imitate the hand gesture. It looked more like she was playing a game involving finger puppets.

He raised one eyebrow. "Extend your hand in my direction for a moment, please."

She looked puzzled, then a bit wary, as if she expected him to strike it.

"Your fingers need to be properly positioned if you are ever to achieve excellence in this."

Slowly, she did as she was told, and very professionally, he spread her fingers out in the designated position and held up her hand.

"There," he said, seemingly content with the result. "Now you are prepared to attempt the greeting."

"I…forget how to say it."

" _Dif-tor heh smusma_."

She took a deep breath, and repeated, "Dif-tor heh smusma."

"Well done, for a first effort," he admitted.

"What does it mean?" she queried.

"Live long and prosper," he translated.

She looked down again, seemingly disappointed.

"You are…distressed at that?"

"I suppose I was hoping it was something more… _lasting_."

"In what way?"

"In the way that…well, I won't be living long and prospering."

Spock was unsure how to respond. "I suppose you are correct that such a greeting is rather superfluous in our current position if taken literally. You have accurately accessed the lack of logic in light of our personal circumstances, but fortunately it was only for the purpose of expanding interplanetary cultural knowledge as opposed to a genuine greeting."

"Still, the language seems…ageless to me."

"It is very ancient. Various modifications were introduced when we embraced a full commitment to logic under Surak, but even as it stands, it is much older than any of your earth languages."

"Then I am sure there are many layers of meaning in it, just like there are many layers of rock on this mountain. All things of worth are layered."

"Perhaps," he conceded. "Do you intend to take a chisel to it, small one?"

"Yes," she confirmed with a sad smile. "I would like to uncover as many layers as I can in all things, with whatever time is left. Yes…I would like to do that very much."

Back at the shack, Spock proceeded to dissect, analyze, and take notes on his own findings, using the back of the professor's own ledger. Meanwhile, Liva set about organizing her own collection, seeming to change her mind how to go about it every few minutes. First, it was according to color, then size, then just picking out her favorites.

She muttered to herself about it all, sometimes asking the opinion of her thoroughly intrigued cat, pawing at the items laid out. Then she would start humming an old Norse tune, seemingly quite happy and contented, and forgetful of their surroundings altogether. Part of Spock felt rather irritated by all this, but the other part could not help but be relieved that at least she was not still suffering outward symptoms of trauma as she had been when they first met, even if they were currently living under a death sentence.

After he focused his mind back on his work for a spell, a paper with scribbling on it flashed in front of his face, and then flashed away again. He looked over his shoulder at her curiously. "If your intent was to show me what was inscribed on the parchment, you failed to make an impression just now."

"I just wanted to get your attention," she explained.

"Would it not be a superior method to simply request my attention?"

She sighed. "I…made you something. For your files. It's…a present."

"Present?" he repeated blankly.

"Yes, for letting me…show you around." She placed the paper on the desk and took a step back. Examining it closer, Spock saw that it was a sketch of the purple cone he had placed in her satchel.

He looked at it intently and then back to her face, innocent with wide-eyed anticipation of his response to her present. He had always been frustrated by the way humans wore no shield to guard their emotions, but she was by far the most vulnerable of the lot. Just looking at her he knew how easy it might be to inflict her with a wound. And he knew just how, too.

He knew he should tell her that the giving of presents in this matter was totally contrary to the practices of his culture. That infringing upon the customs of another people was strictly forbidden by the rules of the Federation, and as a Federation officer's granddaughter she should know better. That, in fact, he had made a point of refusing most presents his shipmates had tried to force upon him. That it was a juvenile gesture which he wanted no part with.

But for some reason, looking at her, he could not bring himself to say any of those things. Instead he found himself inquiring gingerly, "Would you…care to be my science assistant? As a science officer unavoidably separated from my crew, Federation procedure allows for me to appoint on my own authority should I locate a person fitting. Perhaps you might prove to be of some assistance sketching my findings and…such…"

Her eyes lit up and she nodded enthusiastically. "You think it is good then?"

"It _is_ fairly good," he admitted. "And with practice I see no reason why you should not continue to improve. Yes, I think…I am pleased that you…made this." He felt so strange saying it, but…he also found that it was true.

Her eyes were dancing now. "I will be a good science assistant, Mr. Spock," she assured. "I will, you'll see…" She whirled around too fast, and her sweater caught onto his specimen tray, pulling it to the ground.

Spock looked at the splattered tray and back to her, somewhat haughtily. "A phenomenal introduction to the position, that."

"But it provides me with a good first assignment," she decided. "Cleaning up after you."

"After… _me_?" he repeated, flabbergasted. "Miss Christensen, I am not the one who…"

She smiled at him broadly.

He raised an eyebrow. "I assume that was…a human attempt at humor?"

She cliqued her tongue. "I have a feeling we have a lot to teach each other!"


	5. Chapter 5: A Most Unusual Human

Chapter 5: A Most Unusual Human

Spock settled into something of a routine over the course of a week, using every hour of the waning sun to explore the planet's surface, with Liva loyally in tow, her specimen collecting bag slung over her shoulder. Sometimes she would be very quiet, observing him like a mouse in the corner of a room as he ran his censor over various plant, soil, water, and rock samples he discovered. But more often, she would start to talk, about anything and everything, and ask Spock a fair amount of questions he had no enthusiasm to answer.

One afternoon, as he was examining a rather intriguing specimen of animal bone, she inquired, "Are you married, Mr. Spock?"

"Negative," he responded shortly.

"Well, do you have any lady friends then?"

"How very intrusive of you," he shot back.

"It's not _that_ intrusive…"

"Alright, then I shall ask you the same," he decided, wanting to take the handle away from her. "Have you been bombarded with attentions from the opposite sex?"

She turned a little red, and Spock wondered if perhaps he should not have struck back quite so pointedly. "I asked you first," she mumbled, "it's only polite to answer it before asking the same thing."

Spock raised one eyebrow. "For your information, young lady, Vulcanians do not have the same system of mating as humans, so all questions to that end are null and void."

"What's your system like then?"

"It's very…logical," he stated.

"No mystery there," she mumbled.

"But also enshrouded in the ancient ceremonies of our people."

"Like what?"

He gave her a scolding look. "They are not for public transmission to non-Vulcanians except under special circumstances."

"Well, I think being trapped together on a doomed planet is a special circumstance," she countered. "It's like…a final transferral of cultural knowledge."

Spock considered that point, then finally relented. "It recognizes the need for reproduction for the continuance of our species and philosophy, and as such, bonding is arranged at a very young age between two persons who, when the time comes to reproduce, will be drawn back together to fulfill their duty."

"What happens if one of them grows up and doesn't want to mate with the other person, and chooses another?" she queried.

"Then there may be…a trial by combat."

Liva's eyes grew twice their normal size. "Trial by combat?! You mean…to the death?"

"If it comes to that, yes."

"How is that _logical_ exactly?"

" _Pon farr_ is that which releases baser Vulcan instincts," Spock explained. "Briefly, intellect is set aside for the sake of reproduction. Otherwise, it should never be accomplished."

"I don't believe that."

He squinted. "You ask me to transfer cultural information to you, and then refuse to believe it when I tell you? Really, you are a prime example of the inconsistencies of your race."

"You speak of contradictions!" Liva exhaled. "You don't believe that two people can fall in love and be happy together in order to have a baby, but you do believe in fighting to the death in order to settle…mating disputes!"

"Vulcans adopted the logical philosophy after a savage age when the passions ruled us, body and mind," Spock stated. "We were not arrogant enough to assume that we could conquer all our previous instincts in their entirety, especially when some seemed to serve logical ends."

"So killing serves a more logical end than loving?"

"Killing for a purpose, on rare occasions, according to custom, eliminates one of the challengers and settles the dispute," he outlined steadily. "Love, however, is an emotion which is based on attachment, with long-term results that could hinder the…"

"Oh, enough!" Liva crossed her arms in frustration.

"Alright then," Spock conceded. "If you will not hear out my answer, perhaps you will answer my own inquiry about your experience in such matters. You seem to see yourself as quite the expert on them."

Liva looked down. "I never said I was an expert," she disclaimed. "I'm not the prettiest girl in the world, and I'm too shy for most boys. I didn't like to talk to strangers."

"You seem to have changed quite a bit in that respect," Spock remarked.

"Well…you're different. I like talking to you."

Spock gave a nod in recognition of her statement.

"But I don't like talking about silly things with other girls or trying to make addle-headed boys like me. Actually, I hate it. I hated the school in the valley for that. Everything was so fake, like everyone thought it was a world of its own. I see things _big_." She flung out her arms demonstratively. "Out to the sky big!"

"And yet you seem most taken by small things, small one," he reminded her, "like the scent of pine, or flowers, or baking bread, or the poems that tell you stars are ensouled." He raised an eyebrow at a cocksure angle.

"And what space can contain such things?" She tilted her head to challenge him. "Tell me, if you can, how big or small such scents are. And can anyone measure the size of a poem, or the life span of a song?"

"I can accurately give you the chemical cause that causes such scents, and the lengths to which they can travel," he offered, "also, poetry is based upon rhythm and meter found in words of a given language, comparable to songs in their use of the music scale…"

"Yes, but what do all these things lead to? Picking them apart bit by bit does not tell you. The reason is that they are too big for that. They are bigger than all the causes and effects, bigger and bolder and more alive and even more frightening than anything that can be measured."

"I believe I have deducted why you could not easily coexist with your fellow students," he surmised. "You frightened them."

She laughed at this. "Do I frighten you, Mr. Spock?"

"You…fascinate me."

She grinned. "May I take that as a compliment?"

"If you wish."

"How very kind of you, Mr. Spock!"

He shrugged. "I see little how kindness fits into this scenario…"

Just then they both heard a high-pitched screech which made them jump back. It was coming from a gully nearby, caused by the earth rupturing during earthquakes. Liva, seeming to know what it was, rushed over to the edge and beheld a small dragon-like beast with razor-edged red wings. The rest of its body was white, except for the red streak running down its nose.

"It's a tryvern," she informed Spock as he came up behind her. "You know, the ones I told you about that used to nest on the cliffs. I thought the only ones left had gone into the caves in the mountain now. The quakes must have frightened this one out."

Before Spock had the chance to respond, Liva started to climb down into the gully, only several paces away from the tryvern.

"Miss Christenson, you must back away from the reptilian creature this instant," he commanded, his phaser in one hand and sensor in the other.

She gazed at it softly as it flapped its wings awkwardly in a vain effort to fly. "But…it's only a baby."

"From what my censor informs me, your tryverns are not unlike similar species to be found in this star system," he stated, "and as such even those not fully grown are capable of exhaling molten flame if they feel threatened."

"Well, I won't threaten it then."

"Miss Chris…"

The creature gave another strange screech, and prodded what Liva now saw was the body of an adult tryvern nearby.

"Spock, I think…that was its mother." She slowly reached out a hand and stroked the dead beast along the neck. She turned back to Spock. "Toss me down the thermos, will you?"

"I do not understand your intent."

"Just do it, please!"

Reluctantly, he complied. "You do realize you are putting yourself in a position of unnecessary peril."

She smirked teasingly. "Worried, Mr. Spock?"

He raised one eyebrow. "Worry is an emotional reaction not within my capacity to feel, as you should be well aware of by now."

"Fine," she twitted. "Then all you need to do is stay calm."

"I _am_ calm," he retorted. "I don't see why there would even be cause to question…"

"Good for you." She proceeded to unscrew the lid of the thermos and poured a few drops of tea on her hand, testing it like a mother would test formula for her baby. Then she held it towards the tryvern.

It stared at her hand with its beady red eyes for a long moment, and then slowly it started to lick away the drops of tea with its long tongue. Liva brought forward the thermos and waved in just in front of it. Urged on from hunger, the creature dunked its nose inside and began to drink.

Spock watched in fascination as she began to stroke the scales on its head and murmur, "I know what it's like. My mother died too."

"Regardless of your other foibles, you are a most unusual human in your empathy towards sentient beings not of your own species," Spock remarked. "Far more…Vulcan, in a way."

Liva smiled brightly. "And you are a most unusual Vulcan," she returned. "Far more…human, in a way."

He grew disconcerted at this assertion. "How can you possibly make that judgment if I am the only Vulcan to make your acquaintance?"

"Oh, I just…know things. There's no one quite like you, Mr. Spock."

Suddenly, a tremendous roar was heard. Spock snapped his attention on what looked like a mammoth, long-fanged bear charging towards the gully. Liva screamed, and Spock on impulse leapt down and blocked her with his body. The creature let out another roar, baring its fangs menacingly as Spock trained the phaser on it.

But before he could use it, the weapon was clawed out of his hand by the creature's massive paw. A shooting pain ran up his arm, and he fell to his knees. He felt Liva grab him by the shoulder. "Spock, get up!"

Just then, the baby tryvern stood up tall, flapped its wings, and breathed fire into the face of the oncoming fanged bear. The hairy beast staggered back in shock, swinging its paw wildly. Liva, meanwhile, grabbed the phaser lying several paces away. She struggled to her feet, extended the weapon shakily, and pulled the trigger. Amazingly, she hit her mark. Stunned, the great beast let out a roar and then rolled onto the ground, unconscious.

Spock staggered to his feet and stared at the fallen creature in astonishment.

"That," Liva exhaled, handing him back the phaser, "was a _watk'a wituk_."

"That," Spock responded, "was an impressive show of marksmanship, young lady."

"Grandfather taught me with his old Star Fleet phaser," she explained. "But Spock, dear Spock! Your hand…" Her face contorted with concern as she touched the wound, and a sticky green fluid stained her fingers. "Oh, do you…is this…?"

"Vulcanian blood is indeed green, if that is your inquiry." He looked at her testily. "Does it unnerve you?"

"The only thing unnerving me is that my science officer is bleeding!"

He raised an eyebrow again. " _Your_ science officer?"

"Am I not your own appointed assistant?"

"Yes, you are at that. And when I did the appointing, I was not even aware you were trained in codified weaponry."

The small tryvern started screeching again, possibly looking for attention after its bravery in battle. Liva looked down at it with pity and said, "I'm taking him home with us."

"Miss Christensen, I believe it has proven its ability to breathe fire…"

"But it saved our lives! Besides, it can give you something to study while you recover…the peculiar habits of a baby tryvern."

Spock exhaled. "If you believe you can keep the creature under control."

"Of course I can! He won't make any trouble at all…will you?" She knelt down and gestured for it to climb up onto her shoulder, which it did promptly. Then she helped Spock as he climbed out of the gulley with one bad hand. Once he was out, he reached down and pulled her up. Then he just stared at her for a moment, thinking hard.

"What?" she jabbed. "Have you never seen a girl with a tryvern on her shoulder?"

"I believe I should like to learn more about Scandinavians. They are the most unique types of humans I have met to date. It must be something about their native climate…"

"It's the mountains," she specified. "You have to think big when you're reared in the mountains. It's so close to the sky, you have to fall in love with the stars."

He looked into her sky-blue eyes, and caught a glimmer of those stars dancing across them. Yes, she was most unusual indeed.


End file.
